The Arranged Marriage (3 page)

“Most of the men are,” she answered, amazed that he knew of them.

Many years ago his father, Robert King, had financed the Terlizzi family venture into fishing. His great-grandfather, Frederico Stefano Valeri, had begun the tradition of financing Italian immigrants into businesses when the banks had denied them loans. Everyone knew that the Kings would listen to a deal when more conventional financial institutions would not. Judgement was made more on the capability to succeed than on up-front money, and as far as Gina knew, no one had ever failed to pay back the Kings’ faith in them.

“And you’re Angelo’s widow,” Alex King went on, his tone softening with sympathy.

She nodded, even more astonished he knew her husband’s name.

“I remember reading about him going to the rescue of a lone sailor whose yacht had broken up on the reef.”

“The storm beat him. They both drowned,” she choked out.

“A brave man. And a very sad loss to you and your son.” The caring in his eyes squeezed her heart. “I trust your family has looked after you?”

“Very well.”

“Good! My grandmother tells me you’ve come to sing for her. You must want a drink first. Please...” He gestured to the empty chairs on the near side of the table, opposite to where his fiancée sat. “What would you like...wine, fruit juice, iced water?”

“Water for me, thank you.”

“And you, Marco?”

“Juice, please.”

“Only half a glass for him,” Gina quickly warned as she settled them both on chairs. Her eyes appealed for understanding. “He tends to spill from a full one.”

Another warming smile. “No problem.”

“So...you’re a professional singer,” Michelle Banks drawled, focusing Gina’s attention on her.

“I do get quite a few engagements—weddings, birthdays, other functions—but I can’t say I make a living from it,” Gina answered truthfully. No point in pretending to be something she wasn’t. In fact, more often than not she was asked to sing by family or friends with no fee offered at all.

“I presume you have had some training,” the woman pressed in a slightly critical tone that niggled Gina. What business was it of hers?

“If you mean singing lessons, yes. And I’ve competed in many eisteddfods over the years.”

“Then why didn’t you pursue a career with it?”

“Not every woman puts a career first,” Isabella dryly interposed.

Michelle shrugged. “Seems a waste if your voice is good enough.”

She raised her perfectly arched eyebrows at Gina who bristled at the implied put-down. Why did Alex King’s fiancée feel the need to put her on the spot like this. She was a woman who appeared to have everything other women might envy, including the man whose ring she was wearing.

“It wasn’t the kind of life I wanted,” she answered simply. “As to whether my voice is good enough, I’m here—” she transferred her gaze to Isabella “—for Mrs. King to judge if it meets her requirements.”

“And I’m looking forward to hearing it,” the older woman said, smiling encouragement. “Indeed, if it is true to your performance on tape...” She looked directly at her grandson, “...you may very well want Gina to sing at your wedding, Alessandro.”

Silence. Stillness. For the first time Gina lost her own self-consciousness enough to realise there were tensions at this table that had nothing to do with her. Or perhaps she had become an unwitting focus for them. Very quietly she picked up her glass of water and drank, grateful to be out of the direct firing line.

Michelle Banks glared at Alex, clearly demanding his support. He stirred himself, addressing his grandmother with an air of pained patience.

“Nonna, we have already discussed this. Michelle wants a harpist, not a singer.”

“I heard what Michelle wants, Alessandro,” came the coolly dignified reply. “Did I hear what you want?”

“It is the bride’s day,” he countered with a slight grimace at the contentiousness behind the question.

Isabella regarded his fiancée with an expression of arch curiosity that Gina instantly felt had knives behind it. “Is that what you think, Michelle—that a wedding belongs only to the bride, and the groom must fall in with everything she wishes?”

Michelle gave a smug little smile. “Alex is happy for me to have a harp playing.”

“I’ve never thought a harp—indeed, any musical instrument—can project the warmth and emotion that a human voice can.”

“It’s purely a question of taste,” Michelle argued. “A harp is very elegant.”

“Undoubtedly. However, to my mind, even within a showcase of elegance, room could be made for some spotlight on love at your wedding.” She turned a smile on Gina. “Are you now refreshed enough to sing?”

“Yes. Thank you.” She set her glass down and picked up her handbag. “I did bring a backing tape. Are there facilities for it to be played in the ballroom or...”

“Of course.” She nodded to her grandson. “Alessandro will set it up for you and give you a remote control for pausing between songs.”

Gina’s heart fluttered. Was
he
going to listen, too? She glimpsed a V of annoyance forming between Michelle Banks’ brows, but said a quick, “Thank you,” to Alex King anyway.

“My pleasure,” he said kindly, though she couldn’t help wondering if he also was annoyed at this manipulation by his grandmother. It didn’t make for a comfortable audience. His fiancée, for one, was bound to be judging very critically.

Isabella stood up—a definitive signal for them all to rise from the table. Gina hastily removed the glass from Marco’s hands and set him on his feet.

“Are we going to see the balls of mirrors now, Mama?” he asked.

“Yes, we are.”

“Come, Marco. Give me your hand,” Isabella commanded. “I will show you everything while your
madre
is preparing to sing for us.”

He responded without so much as a hesitation, trotting straight over to her and eagerly taking the offered hand, his eyes sparkling with happy anticipation. What was it that made him so pliable to this old woman when he could be quite obstreperous with other virtual strangers? Gina doubted he would have taken Michelle Banks’ hand so readily. But Isabella King...was he instinctively drawn to the power that emanated from her...the power imbued by so many years of being the matriarch of this family?

It was definitely there.

Even Michelle Banks was not about to buck it at this point, although Gina could feel the younger woman’s hostility as they moved as a group to the ballroom. It made Gina wonder if Isabella King was using her as a pawn in a battle she was subtly fighting against her future grand-daughter-in-law.

She hoped it wasn’t so.

She needed this opportunity to be a straight deal between them, one she could count on to lead to a better situation for her and Marco if her singing was approved. It was a big
if,
given the current tensions that were affecting her. Somehow she had to set them aside, concentrate on her singing.

Apart from everything else, she would hate to fail in front of Alex King, hate to have him feel pity for her, hate to give his fiancée reason to sneer at her performance.

She had to sing well.

Had to.

Or she would die a million humiliating deaths.

“Do
we
have
to sit through this?” Michelle hissed at him.

Alex frowned at her. “Yes.”

She rolled her eyes, adopting the air of a martyr as they followed his grandmother and her protégés to the ballroom.

Alex found himself distinctly irked by Michelle’s lack of graciousness, particularly towards Gina Terlizzi. He’d taken an instant liking to the young widow and her little boy. Why couldn’t Michelle simply wish Gina well, instead of measuring her singing talent against her own drive and ambition? It was perfectly understandable why a single mother—tragically so—wouldn’t want to drag her child around the club circuit.

Michelle’s single-mindedness needed to be tempered by an appreciation of where other people were coming from. Apart from anything else, it was a matter of respect for different values, different circumstances. And it wouldn’t hurt her to compromise a bit on her wedding plans. Cutting his grandmother out of all the decisions was not good. Weddings were family affairs to Nonna. That was the Italian way.

Given his grandmother’s none too subtle comments on the harp just now, Alex realised he should start taking a more active role in the arrangements. There
were
other people to consider besides the bride. He recalled Elizabeth King’s recent visit, and her account of how involved she’d been in the planning of her sons’ weddings. Nonna would certainly be feeling...left out of his. It was not right.

The ballroom was set up in its usual pattern—round tables seating eight forming a horseshoe that faced the stage and enclosed the highly polished parquet dance floor. They’d no sooner entered it than Michelle parked herself at one of back tables, right next to the exit, her unwillingness to be an interested party to this audition all too obvious.

Doubly annoyed now, Alex accompanied his grandmother to the table of her choice, halfway down the ballroom. He saw her and the little boy seated, then escorted Gina Terlizzi up to the stage to familiarise her with the sound system so she could perform at her best.

Her hand was trembling slightly as she held out the backing tape. Nerves? Distress at being virtually snubbed by his fiancée? The unfairness of that slight, and the realisation of how vulnerable Gina must be feeling, drove Alex to take the tape and enclose the trembling hand in his own, wanting to impart both warmth and strength, wanting to give her back the confidence that had been taken from her.

“Don’t take any notice of Michelle,” he advised, not caring if he sounded disloyal. “Sing to your son, Marco, imagining you are at his wedding.”

Colour whooshed into her cheeks. Had he embarrassed her? Her thick dark lashes lifted and her eyes— he’d thought they were a light brown but close up they were a fascinating golden amber—seemed to swim up at him, bathing him in a mixture of relief, gratitude, and a very touching wonder at his caring.

He had the instant urge to draw her into his arms— to comfort and protect—and only a swift charge of common sense deflected him from such unwarranted and totally out-of-place action. The strength of the instinct both stunned and bemused him. He barely knew this woman.

“Thank you. You’re very kind,” she murmured huskily.

She had a wide, generous mouth. All the better to sing with, he told himself, clamping down on disturbingly wayward thoughts of sensuality and passion. He was suddenly very conscious of her hand, lying still in his now, and gave it a quick reassuring squeeze.

“You’ll be fine. Just remember my grandmother would not have called you for an audition if she had not been very impressed with your voice.”

She nodded and he released her hand, swinging away to insert the tape into the sound system at the side of the stage. It was unsettling to find himself so aware of her as a woman. It was fine to give her consideration as a person, but the stirring of any sexual interest was out of kilter with his commitment to Michelle. Despite his disaffection with his fiancée’s current attitude, this shouldn’t be happening.

Having switched everything on, he took the remote control panel to Gina, demonstrated the buttons she would need to press, adjusted the microphone for her, keeping his focus on making sure she knew how to work her performance. Even so, every time he glanced at her, those expressive amber eyes tugged at him, making him feel more connected to her than he wanted to be.

He flashed her a last encouraging smile as he left her on centre stage. The need to put distance between them had him heading back down the ballroom to Michelle. Yet he changed his mind halfway, choosing to sit with his grandmother and Gina’s son, rather than placing himself at the side of negative disinterest. It was an action that might just jolt Michelle into reassessing her manner.

The show of support for her protégée earned an approving nod from his grandmother. Feeling slightly guilty, Alex beckoned Michelle to join them, but she waved a curt little dismissal and struck a languid pose on her chair, transmitting a boredom that was not about to be shifted. Alex gritted his teeth. Be damned if he was going to shift, either!

“We are ready if you are,” his grandmother announced.

Alex concentrated objective attention on the woman who now commanded the stage. She was younger than Michelle, probably mid-twenties. The rather modest lemon shift she wore skimmed a very curvaceous figure. Her overall appearance was pleasingly feminine, though not spectacular. She would never draw all eyes as Michelle did on entering a room, yet Alex couldn’t help thinking a man would feel very comfortable having Gina Terlizzi on his arm.

The music started. Alex noted her gaze was not trained on his grandmother, but on her son who was seated on the chair next to the dance floor. He smiled to himself realising she was taking his advice, getting keyed up to direct her song to the little boy whose uncritical love would undoubtedly be beamed back at his mother.

Her voice poured through the microphone, a surprisingly rich, full-bodied voice that filled the ballroom with glorious sound, nothing wispy or weak either in tone or pitch. He recognised the song as a Celine Dion favourite, “Because You Loved Me,” and Gina Terlizzi gave it every bit as much emotional expression—if not more—than the original artist.

A touch on his arm directed his attention to the boy who’d been seated next to his grandmother. He’d slid off his chair and moved onto the dance floor, his feet rocking to the beat of the song, shoulders swaying, arms waving in rhythm, his face raptly lifted to his mother who smiled at him in the pauses of the song. He was copying her gestures, her swaying, the two of them joined in harmony with each other.

When the song ended, he clapped delightedly and called out, “More, Mama!”

Alex couldn’t help sharing a smile with his grandmother who was clearly affected by the little scene, her face softened with the pleasure that old people invariably found in the artless joy of little children.

“Yes, we must hear more,” she called out supportively.

Gina nodded, took a deep breath and started the tape again.

It was certainly no hardship listening to her. As she sang what Alex considered a great rendition of Frank Sinatra’s old song, “All The Way,” he looked back at Michelle, expecting her to be enjoying it as much as he was. She returned a petulant glare that really riled him. Couldn’t she concede Gina Terlizzi was worth listening to?

He looked at the little boy, happily jigging along with the song, and when he clapped at the end of it, Alex couldn’t resist joining in the applause. Why not? It was deserved. And he felt a need to make up for Michelle’s stubborn stand-off.

“Another one, please,” his grandmother requested.

Alex knew most of the popular wedding songs from hearing his grandmother playing them over and over to sort out her recommendations to the couples who booked their weddings here. She’d started the business years ago, determined on maintaining the castle with the profits made—a totally unnecessary decision since the King investments could easily carry any cost to keeping this prime property as it should be kept.

Alex suspected she simply enjoyed planning big occasions and seeing the ballroom put to good use. It also gave her a convenient lead-in to asking her three grandsons when she could expect a wedding from them. She had one now and as Alex listened to Gina Terlizzi sing “From This Moment On,” he silently vowed to ensure that his grandmother would have some voice in the planning of it. Michelle could like it or lump it.

Respect was called for.

Respect would be given.

From this moment on...